


Temptation (the stolen taxi remix)

by Violsva



Category: Marvel, The Avengers (Marvel) - All Media Types
Genre: Car Sex, F/M, M/M, Multi, Remix, Sexual Content, Slight Danger Kink, Sub Clint Barton, Unsafe driving, Voyeurism
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-02-02
Updated: 2021-02-02
Packaged: 2021-03-14 03:49:02
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,026
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29164485
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Violsva/pseuds/Violsva
Summary: Bucky’s driving Clint crazy. Natasha’s just driving.
Relationships: James "Bucky" Barnes/Clint Barton, James "Bucky" Barnes/Clint Barton/Natasha Romanov
Comments: 12
Kudos: 56





	Temptation (the stolen taxi remix)

**Author's Note:**

  * Inspired by [treated my body like a stolen car](https://archiveofourown.org/works/19218082) by [1000_directions](https://archiveofourown.org/users/1000_directions/pseuds/1000_directions). 



> Thanks so much to [1000_directions](https://archiveofourown.org/users/1000_directions/pseuds/1000_directions) for permission to remix her smoking hot fic. I recommend you go read the original first.
> 
> Thanks also to CP for the usual (everything) but specifically for driving beta.

Every time the car hits a pothole, Natasha hears a little gasp from the backseat. She makes sure to hit as many as possible.

Natasha’s taking the long way back, through three construction zones. She’s driving—not badly, but not perfectly, either. She presses her foot down sharply at a red light and hears a desperate whimper from the back, and smiles to herself.

At the light, she adjusts the rear view mirror to give herself a better view of the backseat past the partition. Clint is obviously _falling apart_ , flushed and wriggling in his seat and biting his lip, his eyes closed. Natasha holds back a moan of her own.

James is whispering something to him that Natasha can’t quite hear. He catches her eye in the mirror, smirking, so she knows he’s deliberately keeping just within the range of her hearing but too soft for her to make out any words.

Natasha feels her own hand on the bare skin of her inner thigh. She straightens her skirt and pulls her hand back to readjust the mirror. As she steps on the gas she can still see Clint’s face as he falls onto James. She smirks, puts both hands on the wheel, and refocuses on the road.

Soon Clint’s whimpering again, and James says his name, firmly. “Need to get fucked,” Clint mumbles, and Natasha carefully keeps her eyes open and pointing out the windshield. She jerks the car a little, to hear Clint beg again and to ride the motion herself, just a little.

James starts murmuring again, still _just_ too quiet for her to guess the words, damn him. Natasha stops at another light, tapping her fingers on the wheel. If she stretches up in her seat, she can see a little further past the partition. James’ hand slides down Clint’s back with clear intent. Clint is fully on his lap now, face buried in James’ shoulder.

The taxi behind her honks, and Natasha shifts in her seat and starts driving again. Eyes forward. Hands on the wheel at two and ten. Her breath is coming faster now, the streetlights seeming brighter. Clint moans behind her, and she wants to stop, to turn and look, to press her hand between her legs, to lean back and stretch out her legs as she does, bracing against the footwell and pushing up her skirt...

She wants to keep driving, with a better-positioned mirror, so she has to choose every second between watching them and watching the road. She wants to be on a highway in the middle of nowhere rather than a Manhattan street. Speaking of which, she slows, rolling up to a light that’s about to turn green.

Clint cries out, only to suddenly break off. James’ hand. Natasha barely manages to hit the gas at the signal. Is it his right hand against Clint’s tongue, being sucked wet? Or is it the metal one forcing Clint’s lips apart?

They’re whispering again. Natasha squeezes her legs together and keeps her hands on the wheel. Clint gasps for breath. She can see the top of his head, barely, and James’ eyes. James frowns at her a little, and she looks away from the mirror and back at the road. She’s a block past where she wanted to turn. She changes into the left lane.

Clint moans sharply, muffled by James’ fingers, and Natasha misses an opportunity to turn. Not that it matters. She slides into the next gap in traffic.

She can hear fabric rustling. She can hear Clint panting for breath. She’s probably fooling herself that she can hear the slick wet sounds of Clint’s mouth, but she’s fine with that self-deception. But she still can’t make out James’ words.

She can’t make out Clint’s next words either, but that’s because he’s talking around James’ fingers, forgetting entirely about being quiet. Natasha’s left hand pulls away from the wheel, and she firmly puts it back. Face forward. Right foot on the gas. Calm. Control. Keep driving.

Someone bumps into her seat, just a little. Goddammit. Natasha licks her lips and keeps her hands on the wheel.

“Mmmm,” James hums, and then she can hear him. “I’m not going to come until we’re back home, in our bed, and my cock is inside you.” Probably he’s louder now because Clint’s head is too far away from his for him to whisper. In his lap, maybe. She bites her lip and tastes the remains of her lipstick. James softens his voice a little further, though, and all she can make out next is, “You can lick me.”

She knows Clint is doing it. He’s so good. He’ll be trying so hard.

Natasha turns right onto Madison. Clint whimpers into James’ crotch. As she turns onto 46th he moans desperately.

Vanderbilt. Clint’s gasping. James’ eyes narrow at Natasha in the rear view mirror, but it’s from pleasure as much as warning. Clint chokes and starts whimpering.

Natasha turns onto 45th. Clint’s voice breaks out into sobs, and she forces her head back against the headrest and keeps her eyes open. Madison. James whispers something else, and Clint gasps and stops crying.

Natasha flexes her thighs. Both hands stay on the wheel. She isn’t quite keeping to a straight line, though. Clint’s tiny moans turn happy and expectant. Right turn. Gas. Stop. Right turn. Eyes forward, he’s out of view anyway. Face forward. Right turn.

She knows exactly how he sounds when he comes, and how he sounds when James keeps going after he’s come. She jerks in her own seat at the first one, feeling how wet she is as her crotch glances against the leather. She keeps her eyes open. She’s not really seeing much of the road.

James knocks on the roof of the car and Natasha keeps going to the next light. Final right turn.

“Will you still fuck me when we get home?” Clint asks, and Natasha jerks away from a pillar. Left into the parking lot. She flashes her Avengers card at the reader and zooms in as soon as the gate’s halfway up. If James doesn’t want to, she will.


End file.
